Anger

January 05, 2016

One of my daughters gave me a gift at Christmas of two CDs (I'm old school tech) of death wish songs. . .songs about addiction, suicide and recovery. This would, under most trees in winter, be a dark, demented gift.

But for me it was a Godsend. My project (Death Wish) is a new book and series of audios that dive deep into the forest of addiction and suicide and help addicts and families and friends of addicts (in other words, the whole human race) see the path through the woods, to a glorious life.

There are 35 of these songs (and if you have a favorite song or movie relating to this subject, let me know) on my two gift CDs, and I am loving the power of this music.

Keith Urban sings You're Not My God and there is a fierce joyful anger in it that rocks me when I listen:

From the cradle to the graveTemptations all aroundBut no matter how good the fixIt's gonna take you down

Now some call it a weaknessSome call it a sinBut it's all the same behind each gameI see your evil grin

But you're not my godAnd you're not my friendYou're not the one that I will walk with in the endYou're not the truthYou're a temporary shotYou ruin people's lives and you don't give a second thought

I remember when drugs and alcohol were my only real friends. When they were my gods. When my fear of losing them overrode everything and ruined and wasted my life. I remember that.

Keith Urban checked himself into a residential rehab center four months after marrying Nicole Kidman, after she and some friends staged an intervention on him. His drinking and drug use was ruining his life and career.

February 04, 2013

The
woman sounded angry when she asked me that. Or maybe I should say seemed angry,
since it was in an email, in response to a blog I wrote that mentioned I was
working on a book called Why Women Rule: The Rise of the Female Warrior.

I had
to think about that question. Who was I to write a book about women? My first
answer I typed to her, would not be the right answer because it contained an
accidental obscenity, so I didn't send it. I used the backspace button to
delete it. Besides, everybody says that obscene stuff these days in response to
the slightest provocation, and I don't want to be like everybody else just to
look trendy.

Who am
I to write about women? Well! I had a mother. Is that good enough? Well, maybe
not. Everyone has had a mother. So I'm not exactly an outlier there.

I have
two sisters. I have three daughters. I have a wife. I have women clients. My
favorite philosopher/spiritual advisor is Byron Katie, a woman. And I cheer for
Jennifer Lawrence every time she picks up her bow and arrow in The Hunger Games.

Besides,
I have always rejected the excessively tribal claims that only women can write
about women, only blacks can write about blacks, only dwarves can write about
dwarves, and on and on. If we have too much more of that tribal isolation no
one will be bonding with anyone else ever again. It will just be islands of
isolation and tribal rage.

Oh, I
forgot one of my best qualifications: my grandmother was a woman. She was a
hero of mine, and a role model. She never hated anyone. When she didn't like
someone she would always say they were "insignificant." Sometimes she
would say, "He's the most insignificant man I know of!"

My
grandmother was not tribal, either. If the boys (her sons and grandson) were in
her living room watching a football game, she would poke her head out from the
kitchen and ask, "Who's the underdog?" We would shout back who the
underdog was in the game, and she would say, "That's who I want to
win."

She was
always for the underdog. But it made no sense to her tribal boys.

"Who's
the underdog?" she would say, as we watched our Arizona Wildcats play New
Mexico.

"New
Mexico!" we would shout.

"Then
I hope New Mexico wins," she would say.

"Why?"
We couldn't understand it. "They're playing Arizona!"

"They're
the underdog, that's why."

"But
Grandma! You live in Arizona, your children and grandchildren went to the
University of Arizona."

"That
doesn't matter. I hope New Mexico wins."

Her
loyalty was always to the underdog. Ours was to our own exclusive tribe. Her
heart was bigger. Her ego was smaller. Her anger (the ultimate result of tribal
loyalty) was almost non-existent.